


Professor Rogers' Office

by RogerTaylorCanRawMe



Series: Steve Rogers [5]
Category: Marvel
Genre: College AU, Cunnilingus, F/M, Multi, Parent Issues, Shower Sex, Steve Rogers Angst, Steve Rogers and his glorious beard, Sugar Daddy Steve Rogers, bucky barnes x natasha romanoff - Freeform, bucky barnes x natasha romanoff x steve rogers x reader, ex wife peggy, natasha romanoff x reader - Freeform, professor steve rogers x reader, professor!steve, room mate wanda maximoff, steve rogers fluff, swinging, wanda maximoff x carol danvers subplot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-07 22:55:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14681169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogerTaylorCanRawMe/pseuds/RogerTaylorCanRawMe
Summary: You're a history student with straight A's. He's a recently divorced history professor who fucks around with his students and enjoys spoiling his partners rotten. What could possibly go wrong?





	1. The First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> A SUGAR DADDY / COLLEGE PROFESSOR STEVE FIC BECAUSE I FEEL ALL THE FEELS ABOUT BEARDED STEVE ROGERS.

Professor Rogers was one of the very few lecturers you found interesting. You would even go so far as to say, you liked him. What was there not to like? Usually stoic and principled, Professor Rogers was going through a divorce. These days he looked tired and disheveled, sporting more facial hair than you thought it was possible for him to grow, and, apparently, conducting off the cuff ‘tutorials’ that made for hot gossip all over campus. 

You were thrilled he had been assigned as your research supervisor, although you would have been lying if you said you didn’t choose to focus on modern European history on purpose. You knew that was Professor Rogers’ specialism.

Everything about you was geared towards getting his attention, from the red lipstick and the loose curls, down to your slightly too short dress. You had been so confident about this in the week leading up to your first meeting alone, but, standing at the door to his office, you had the overwhelming fear that your heart might beat out of your chest. You reached out to knock on the door. It opened before you even had a chance. And there he was. 

He towered over you, much taller than you remembered from all of his classes. Still, he gave you a warm smile. “Come on in, make yourself comfortable,” he said, stepping aside and ushering you towards an empty seat at his desk. 

He sat down opposite you and began shuffling through the pile of files in front of him. Yours was the fifth one down. He peered over his glasses, “we’ve got a lot to hash out.”

“I was really hoping you could help me narrow down what it is I’d like to write my thesis about, Professor Rogers. It’s just, you know, I love reading about totalitarian regimes from the last hundred years or so, but also conflict resolution towards the end of the eighteen hundreds, and I can’t do both so… here I am!” you babbled nervously. 

Professor Rogers nodded, running his fingertips over his chin. He wasn’t looking at you, no. He was poring over your work. 

“What do you think I should do, Professor Rogers?” you pressed.

He looked up at you, finally. “Well firstly, you can call me Steve. And secondly, you’re a straight-A student, so I think you need to calm down about this.”

“What?”

“Do you even know how to relax?” Steve smirked, pushing your file aside. 

You bit your lip and rolled your eyes. 

Steve nodded, coming to a conclusion in his own head. “I think I can help you out. But you need to trust me. You in?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” You knew exactly what he meant. You had heard this story countless times. Your stomach twisted itself into exhilarating little knots.

Steve wheeled his chair back slightly and tapped the edge of his desk. “Come around and perch yourself right here in front of me.”

Not missing a beat, you slipped around to his side of the desk and hopped up on to it, looking down at your professor. He closed in on you, gently slipping his hands up your thighs and under your dress. 

“Just lie back and relax,” he reassured, pressing kisses against your thigh.

You leaned back, spreading your legs a little bit more, watching intently as Steve pulled your underwear aside. 

“I think you’ve been looking forward to this,” he remarked, running his fingers over your slick slit. 

It was evident he had been too. Not content with using his hands, Steve replaced them with his mouth, hungrily tracing your folds with his tongue.

Those nerves of yours seemed to dissipate with every single lap. His hair had grown in the months since his divorce, enough for you to weave your fingers through it, tugging, pulling him closer, anchoring yourself in your struggle to stay upright, to keep watching him. 

His arm around your waist worked at holding you in place as you writhed underneath him, his other hand squeezing at any available patch of flesh before his fingers came to rest at your entrance. One finger, then two, fucking you in time with the movements of his tongue. His mouth was kept busy, extracting pleasured sighs from you as his tongue zeroed in on your clit.

To look at him, you would think you were the most delicious thing he had ever tasted, groaning contentedly, eyes closed in sheer bliss. Even just watching him do this to you was thrilling in itself. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him, in a trance where he was pulling your strings. 

You could feel yourself tightening up. The heat between your legs, creeping its way through you. You couldn’t contain it. You just needed something to get you over the edge he had you well and truly dangling from. 

He was totally lost. In his own world.

You cursed his name under your breath. 

He looked up at you with those tired eyes, cocking an eyebrow. 

He wasn’t done with you yet.

That did it.


	2. Bearer of Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You continue to meet with Steve and begin to feel comfortable around him. But your doubts grow as you begin to overthink things, namely the rumours about him and his feelings towards you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE FIC

Three weeks into the new semester and you had already racked up triple that in meetings with Professor Rogers. On the first week, he called and suggested you meet for dinner and a catch up. On the second, it was lunch. Bookended by meetings in his office, of course.

That wasn’t to say that you weren’t learning. You just weren’t learning what you were supposed to. Instead of analysing the behavioural patterns of notable dictators, you were analysing every inch of Professor Rogers’ dick… with your mouth. But when you weren’t frantically fucking each other on his desk, he was kind. He listened and reassured. Most of all, he seemed to accept you.

You would have been forgiven for forgetting about the rumours that spread like wildfire about him; about all of his other conquests in your class. You found yourself telling him everything. All the things you and Wanda got up to at the weekend, about your dream of visiting Rome and about your upcoming visit home, and how much you dreaded seeing your parents every time.

Steve peered at you over his glasses, still adjusting his shirt.

“I know I’m getting good grades and all, but I’m sure they’re going to find _something_ ,” you continued.

Steve nodded.

You paused for a moment, giving a deep sigh, glad to get it all off your chest.

Steve’s expression turned thoughtful. “What if I gave you an excuse to not go home this weekend?”

“I don’t think they’re gonna buy the whole ‘sorry mom, I’m fucking my professor’ thing-“

Steve held up a hand. “I’m gonna stop you right there, it’s not what you think.”

“Oh.”

“My best friend’s getting married this weekend and I don’t wanna show up alone.”

“Won’t it be weird so soon after…”

“Come on. A buffet and a free bar? I thought you kids loved freebies?” Steve smiled.

You rolled your eyes, silently admitting defeat. You were sold.

“It’s getting late,” Steve said, looking at his watch, “why don’t you come back tomorrow evening and I’ll tell you all about it? I’ll make it worth your while, promise.”

 

* * *

The next day you returned. Your usual time when the sun cast stripes along the floor between the row of stone pillars on your left. Everything was golden. The halls were empty as you slowly wandered towards Steve’s office, your footsteps echoing. 

Then another set came tapping along behind you, catching up.

“Fancy seeing you here!”

Steve’s voice startled you.

You glanced at him as he walked beside you, arms laden with pale blue boxes, nearing the end of the corridor. 

“You come here often?” he beamed.

You laughed quietly. “Only to see you! Now how are you gonna make this whole wedding thing worth my while?”

“I think these are a dead giveaway, don’t you?” he said, nodding towards the precious cargo in his arms, “can you get the door?”

Steve dumped the trio of boxes on to his desk, relegating a mountain of paperwork to the floor. Then he turned to you, looking proud of himself. “You gonna open ‘em?”

“They’re all for me?”

Steve looked at you, still grinning. “Yeah!”

You looked at him for more reassurance.

He nodded.

Without wasting a second more, you went for the biggest box; lifting the lid and clawing back the colourful tissue paper, exposing a dress. It too was blue, but deep and royal with a sweetheart neckline and a full tulle skirt, tea length. You held it up and pressed it to your frame. “How did you-“

Steve leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “I’m… observant.”

You spun around, the layers of fabric encircling you.

The look on Steve’s face was more than just approval, or the conclusion that he made a good choice. He looked at you like you were the most gorgeous person he had ever laid eyes on. 

You placed the dress back in its box and approached Steve, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I love it. Thank you.”

Steve took your hand and pressed a delicate kiss on to your skin. “I think you’ll like the rest too.”

 

* * *

Wanda sat cross legged on her bed, examining a glimmering, gleaming necklace between her fingertips in awe. “He bought you all this?”

“Yeah.”

“And you feel guilty?”

“Yeah.”

She got up and wandered over to you in the doorway, holding your face in her hands. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

You sighed and smiled awkwardly, stepping back. “I’m just not sure about this.”

Wanda grasped at the air, grimacing comically out of frustration.

“It’s just all the rumours about him. What if he does this with everyone? What if he’s doing this because he got divorced? I mean is this just because I’m fucking him? Is he my sugar daddy now?”

Wanda rolled her eyes. “He’s not doing this with everyone,” she said matter of factly.

“How do you know that?”

“Do those labels look cheap to you?” she said, holding up your dress and your shoes and your necklace. “He’d be bankrupt within a week if he just handed these out to every girl who gives him a blowjob, dumbass.”

“But what if he wants more?” you said, dejected.

“I think he likes you. You should go for it.” She gave you a firm pat on the back and a hearty smile, “no matter how much your jaw aches.”

 

* * *

Your stomach churned as you waited patiently by the window in your new blue dress. It was a couple of minutes shy of ten. He would be there any minute. 

You wrung your cold, clammy hands together, imagining what was in store for you. Was his ex going to be there? What would his friends think? You were young enough to be his daughter after all. How did he really feel about you?

_BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!_

 


	3. The Ex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have a less than pleasant run-in with Steve's cold as ice ex wife, Peggy, at his best friend's wedding. The meeting prompts you and Steve to leave. But when it's just you and him, you're forced to confront some glaring issues in order for your new relationship to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me ages to update. I've been going through a bit of a rough patch. Thanks for the support!

It truly was a beautiful wedding. The bride and groom - Natasha and Bucky - were beautiful. The ceremony was beautiful. The decor, the cake, the guests, you. You were beautiful.

At least according to Steve.

He flitted from circle to circle, with you on his arm, introducing you to his friends. Every now and again he would press his hand against the small of your back and peer down at you, gently whispering, “are you all right?”

You would nod and feign a smile, the pit in your stomach growing deeper with every handshake and air kiss and every face to remember and name you were bound to forget. 

Steve was much more adept at this. He could command a circle of people with an effortless grace. That was, until he came face to face with his ex wife, Peggy.

She was upright and as stiff as a board, one might even say she was matronly. But utterly breathtaking, even with her crimson lips tightly pursed together, arms crossed and eyebrow quirked expectedly. “I see you’ve grown a beard, Steven,” she spat. 

Steve tightened his grip around your waist. You didn’t fight this like you had all night. You pressed yourself into him. It was as much to comfort yourself as it was to comfort him. 

Steve nodded at his ex, “Peggy.”

Her steely gaze turned to you for a brief moment. And then it returned to Steve. “Who’s your friend?”

Steve introduced you. Not once giving an indication that either of you were more than friends. 

“So she’s a rebound? And here I was thinking you were taking it all on the chin, so to speak,” she said with a haughty laugh. 

The pit in your stomach turned to a swell of anger in an instant. If this had happened anywhere else, you would have swung for her. But you were determined not to ruin the wedding of two total strangers over one throwaway comment.

Steve threatened to do that on your behalf. “Yeah, figured I’d get a younger model. You were getting to be an old hag anyway,” he remarked, taking a swig from his drink and jabbing a finger at Peggy. “Why are you here again?”

The party went on despite Steve’s best efforts, but there was a silence between the three of you. Peggy was stunned. Steve had just realised he had completely lost his cool. And you were only there to observe. 

“That’s right,” Steve said, gathering his composure, “you’re a damn leech and you know it.”

“Well, if you were to ask my lawyer, I’m sure he’d say the opposite. Have a lovely evening. Leech.” Peggy turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd of partygoers, leaving you and Steve standing there looking bewildered.

“Well, my work here is done,” Steve said, thrusting his hands into his pockets, “you wanna get outta here?”

You rolled your eyes. “Thank god! I’ve been looking for an excuse to leave since we got here.”

It was almost time for a serious conversation. 

The journey back to Steve’s apartment was reticent, however. The pair of you barely spoke a word to each other as a blanket of dread enveloped you both, tucked away in the back of a taxi. Fortunately, the streets were deserted. You only had to endure it for the longest ten minutes of your life. 

Steve’s place was sparse. Despite him having lived there for six months, you would have been forgiven for thinking that he had just moved in. Boxes stuffed with papers and books, stacked waist high, lined the hall, with barely a personal touch on the walls. 

You had a trying time attempting to follow Steve from the doorway to the kitchen while tipsy and in ridiculous heels. He, on the other hand, was an expert. 

He was already popping open two bottles of beer when you caught up with him. He set them down on the table and collapsed into a chair across from you. 

His run in with Peggy had floored him. 

“You ok?” 

Steve hauled himself up straight and nodded, taking a long drink from his beer. He swallowed hard and scanned your face for a moment, a pained look in his eye. “You?”

You sighed. “No. No I’m not.”

He widened his eyes, like he had suddenly woken up. 

You knew it was about to come flooding out. All the dreaded questions that had invaded your brain that day. They had all come to the surface. But you started vaguely, offering two clipped questions, hoping they’d shut the pest in your brain up. “What is this? What’s the deal here?”

“I like you.” Steve sounded hurt. You regretted opening your mouth.

Without missing a beat: “What about everyone else?”

“There’s no one else. Not anymore. That was right after Peggy left and I didn’t know what to do. I don’t do that anymore. They’re idiots who can’t keep their mouths shut. It’s all noise.”

“What about this,” you asked, gesturing to the dress that Steve had bought you, “is this because I’m doing something for _you_?”

“Wh-what?! I can’t spoil you?” Steve was beginning to get defensive. 

“It just feels so sordid. The secret meetings, the gifts. I don’t know.” The mask was beginning to slip. You could feel the tears coming. Like you were digging your own grave, on the cusp of losing what you could have with Steve, if that brain of yours would just. Shut. Up. 

Steve folded his arms and sighed. 

“I just feel like if you’re doing all this for me, you’re going to expect more. You’re going to have something over me. And I hate anyone doing that to me. I can’t have that. I don’t want some creepy old sugar daddy.” And that was it. The heart of the problem. Control.

Steve nodded and stopped you there. “I’m so sorry,” he said quietly.

“You don’t have to be sorry I…”

“I don’t expect anything from you. I like doing this for people. Peggy was never ok with it and I get it. But who else am I gonna spend my money on? You’re great and I don’t mind spoiling you. I don’t expect anything else.”

“I wouldn’t mind it every now and again, but it takes a lot of getting used to, especially when most of the people in your life have ulterior motives” you admitted. You were torn between feeling pity for him and relief for just getting that out. But you had just one more burning question to ask him. “And taking me to the wedding? You didn’t just want to show me off, did you?”

“I didn’t want to go on my own. But so what if I wanted to show you off? You’re young and gorgeous and…”

You stopped him. “It’s a bit much. And way too soon.” 

Steve narrowed his lips and looked away from you, puffing out his cheeks. “Point taken.”

“Good.”

“Good,” Steve began, getting up from his chair and planting himself on the table in front of you.  He gently lifted your chin so that you were looking up at him. “Can you maybe quit looking so damn sad? You just scored yourself an emotionally vulnerable, sad, old, recently divorced sugar daddy, who doesn’t have any kids or pay alimony and who cares about _you_ very much.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. You stood up, eye to eye. “Just promise me you’re not going to get too distracted. You still have to do one very important thing for me.”

Steve wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into him for a hug. “Distracted?”

“Remember you’ve still got to help me get my degree, so I can pay for my own fancy dresses someday.”

“Consider it done,” he murmured, placing a kiss against your forehead. 

You swore to yourself, there and then, that you were going to enjoy this for as long as it lasted. Even though you were certain it was completely doomed.


	4. Little Stevie Pooped His Pants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a bid to become more involved in each others' lives, and, burdened with a glorious hangover, you and Steve meet his friends for lunch, which turns into yet more drunkenness.

Saturday morning. Light cracked through the curtains, bathing you both in an obnoxious shade of orange. It was 10AM but you wondered whether sleep had even touched your eyes. 

You and Steve had been up until five, working on the first draft of your research project together. The pair of you had been there since midday, sitting on the floor, backs against the sofa, encircled by research papers and textbooks, notes and more books. Steve was a stickler for writing things out by hand, much to your annoyance, but he had given you the most beautiful leather bound journal to write your draft in. He reasoned that it would make you think more about every argument, paragraph, line and even every word you put into your work. 

That it did. You looked up at the ceiling, thinking about everything, muttering everything out loud. Everything was assessed by Steve and once he approved of what you were trying to say, you’d neatly note it in the book. It was a slow way of doing things. Not helped by Steve starting to ply you both by whisky by three in the afternoon. But progress was being made. He didn’t distract you any more than he needed to. Steve was helping. Just like he said he would. 

Three sheets to the wind, half a dissertation and two bottles of whisky later, the pair of you collapsed into bed. Steve nodded off instantly, but you just laid there, on your back, staring at the ceiling. 

It felt like you had been doing that for the six hours you had been there. Your brain still wrapped up in a giddy, drunken daze, pondering every glorious detail of the last few weeks. You looked over at Steve, who was still asleep in a cocoon of blankets. ‘So this is what it’s like to have somebody,’ you mused, smiling to yourself. 

It was so foreign but so incredibly comforting. You wondered why you had tried to run from it in the beginning. Now you just let it envelope you. 

You had agreed to start small. Your biggest fear was judgment from those closest to you and Steve. And there were so many inlets in your relationship for that to seep in. So many things people might tell you were wrong. They might tell you the age gap was to wide, or you too naive. Or that you were merely a rebound. So many worries.

But you were both determined to make it work. For that to happen, you had to get your friends on board. You already knew Bucky and Natasha from their wedding. That, according to you both, was starting small.

Setting about planning the day in your mind, how to steer the potential conversations into easy territory, how to get them to like you, fielding what you could remember about the couple… your train of thought quickly derailed as Steve began to stir. 

He draped a heavy arm around your waist and pulled himself into your side. “Do we have to go?” Steve mumbled against your skin. 

You carded your fingers through his hair, laughing to yourself. “Why? You hungover?”

“Yup.”

“Pop a couple painkillers, chug some water and jump in the shower. Moisturise or something. You’ll be fine.”

Steve didn’t speak, instead, he responded by wailing, nuzzling at your skin. You were having none of it.

“This was your idea.”

“Not my best.”

“We’re going.”

What Steve didn’t know was how much you didn’t want to go either.

——-  
As it turned out, ‘lunch’ with Bucky and Natasha, meant a completely different thing to them. 

The venue for the meeting was a place called ‘The Raven,’ a small and dingy rock bar on the other side of town specialising in beer, beer and more beer. Not exactly something either of you craved after last night; nor was it the type of place you and Steve would ever frequent. 

Punters, big burly figures in denim vests and bandanas, eyed you both as you scanned the room for Steve’s friends. To them, the pair of you were possibly the nerdiest looking creatures you had ever seen.

You clung to Steve’s arm as you made your way further into the dimly lit room, peeking into each of the booths. Finally, tucked away in the far corner, nursing a stein each, was Bucky and Natasha. Their surroundings fitted them to a tee. 

“Steve!” Bucky beamed, shooting to his feet to hug his friend. He turned his attention to you, giving you a quick look up and down, before hugging you too. “Girl Steve!”

No sooner had your face parted ways with Bucky’s chest but you were being smothered by a mane of red hair and overwhelmed by the scent of Christmas candles and caramel. 

When Natasha was done, she looked up at Bucky. “Look, they even dress the same, how sweet!” she cooed. 

Neither you nor Steve knew how to take that comment; you just glanced at each other and grimaced. 

“Okay, nerds, I’m gonna get a round in, what are you having?” Bucky said, clasping his hands together. 

Steve shook his head. “No, I-I’m good for now, Buck.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows and pointed at Steve. “Beer.” Then he pointed at you.

“I don’t know if I should…”

“Beer. Good.”

You, Steve and Natasha took your seats in the red leather booth. She sat opposite you and smirked. 

“Nat, I know that look.”

“I think it’s great you’re getting back on your feet,” she said, reaching over to touch Steve’s arm. “She’s cute.”

Bucky came back to the booth, carrying a tray of steins. Your stomach churned at the thought of having to drink one of those. 

“James, don’t you think they’re cute?” Natasha drawled. 

Bucky paused as he dished out the beers, looking at your and Steve with a furrowed brow. “I guess.”

“You guys definitely make a cute couple, I’m so happy.”

“Is this a joke?” you snapped. 

Natasha was taken aback. Steve and Bucky too. “Why would it be a joke?”

You struggled to form words. Steve put his hand on your arm reassuringly. 

“All I’m saying is that Steve looks happy. I’m happy you’re making my friend happy because god knows Peggy never did,” she said defensively. 

You could feel the embarrassment welling up inside you. Not even ten minutes with these people, you were already making a fool out of yourself. “Sorry,” you said quietly. 

“Never calling you cute again, by the way, point taken,” Natasha joked. 

After that, you zoned out, looking down at your drink. Unsure of what to say, and disgusted by the thought of drinking again to aid you on your way. You let the grown ups have their own conversation, not tuning in or saying a word. 

Then you felt an elbow to your rib. 

You sat bolt upright. “Huh?” 

“Tell ‘em what you do,” Steve said. 

You stumbled your way towards an answer: “Oh, uh… I study history. Modern… European history. German reunification is my main sort of focus with that.”

Bucky and Natasha listened intently, their eyes lighting up as you began talking about your dissertation, even if sounded clinical and matter of fact to you. They were fascinated. 

“And what are you gonna do after college? Are you gonna go to grad school?” Bucky asked.

“No… I don’t really know. I kind of just studied history on a whim because of my parents. It’s not really my passion.”

“Well what is?” Natasha asked.

“I always wanted to be a painter, you know. But my folks always told me I wasn’t good enough for art school, that it wasn’t a viable career, no money in it. But yeah, I might go into high school teaching. Maybe.”

“But if it’s your passion, why not just go for it? Surely being happy is better than pleasing your parents? Right?” Natasha pressed. 

Steve turned to you, “and you’re smart. Really smart. I mean, you could do whatever you wanted.” He faced Bucky and Natasha again. “Did I mention how smart she is? Straight A’s!”

“Yeah that’s because you’re marking all my papers.”

“Sleeping with the teacher, where have I heard that before?” Bucky remarked, settling back into his seat and winking at Steve. 

Your mouth dropped open as you looked at Steve. 

His cheeks were scarlet and his hands were over his eyes. Half his beer was gone. “Listen, listen,” he said, attempting to stifle a laugh. “I was B student at best with a BEST FRIEND who constantly got me into all kinds of trouble and precisely zero prospects. There was nothing else I could do!”

“So you fucked… what was her name again?” Bucky continued.

“Professor van Dyne,” Steve admitted. 

“She’s gotta be a hundred years old right now,” Bucky said, shaking his head. 

The conversation had driven you to take the first sip of your now warm beer.

“I guess what I’m saying is, you have prospects,” Steve concluded, wrapping his arm around your waist. 

“So I don’t have to sleep with you anymore? Great, bye!” 

“So are you just naturally smart, or how hard do you have to work?” Natasha asked. 

“Nooooo. Not by a long shot,” you began. “I have to study a lot. It’s a lot of stress. I’ll just be glad when college is over. It’s not for me, really.”  
“Really stresses you out, huh?” she said.

“Put it this way: Steve’s probably seen me cry more than my own mother.”

“You know, Steve’s a crybaby too,” Bucky added. 

“Aaaaaaaaand I gotta take a leak,” Steve said. 

Steve excused himself, leaving you alone with his friends. Pressured into talking to them, you asked them what they did for a living. 

“I run a shooting school,” Bucky said proudly. 

“And I teach a self defence class for women in disadvantaged communities.”

“We both used to work in law enforcement,” Bucky added.

“He worked for the NYPD and I was FBI for a while. We had so many run ins on the job, so many pissing contests. But I knew he liked me,” Natasha explained.

“But when we decided we wanted a life together, we just decided to pack it in. Have a simpler life.”

“And we couldn’t be happier,” Natasha concluded, smacking her hand to Bucky’s chest. 

Badass and happy? Steve returned, just as you had concluded that his friends were truly sickening. 

“How did you meet this guy?” you asked, cocking your thumb in Steve’s direction.

Steve flopped down beside you, throwing an arm over your shoulder. “For my sake,” he began, “please give her the non lame version.”

“Please give me the lame version.”

“Well,” Bucky shifted forward in his seat, “Steve was the scrawniest little shit in kindergarten. But he was yappy, like a ratty little dog. Anyway, he was going off on this one rich kid called Stark for taking his favourite fire truck. But Stark beat him up so hard that Stevie crapped his pants. Literally, crapped. His. Pants.”

“And we’re getting the lame version,” Steve interjected. 

“Oh yeah,” Bucky nodded. “So anyway, I see this happening. I was one of the bigger kids in the class, I could take ‘em all. But I don’t like bullies. I go over to Stark in front of everybody, and I pantsed him. Well this guy cried like I’ve never seen. And little Stevie’s just standing there with diarrhoea coming out of his pants.”

“And then what happened,” you asked, feeling bad for Steve. 

“He knew if he stuck with me, he could run his mouth as much as he wanted. Nobody could touch him,” Bucky laughed. “It’s funny when you look back on it. Did you take steroids when you went through puberty, Stevie?”

You saw them funny side now, looking at them both. Steve was taller than Bucky by a good few inches, broader at the shoulders and had a wider chest. He was bigger than him now. 

“He still can’t fight for shit,” Bucky added.

“Can confirm. Can’t beat his way out of a paper bag. Even I can’t help him,” Natasha commented. 

“I don’t like hitting things,” Steve almost whined. 

“Unless it’s in the bedroom,” Natasha remarked. 

“What?”

“Peggy told me a few things. A few things you really really liked.”

“She did have a great ass for it,” Bucky reasoned. 

You zoned out again, to build a picture in your mind of what Natasha was getting at, with you in Peggy’s place, and this time in Steve’s office, just like all of those little covert visits you paid him at the start of the year. You were bent over his desk, underwear bundled around your ankles. And he was standing over you with his thick, tan belt in his hand. Or would he used his own, bare hands? Would you be draped over his thighs? The possibilities were endless. 

You bit your lip just imagining what he’d do to you, hoping that this side of him really did exist, wanting it to be true. 

Grunting. That’s what ripped you away from the painting inside your head. Your eyes quickly focused, homing into the scene in front of you. 

Somehow the debate over who was strongest had descended into an arm wrestling match between Steve and Bucky. They were hovering out of their chairs, elbows firmly placed on the table. Great veins in Bucky’s arm bulged as Steve grappled and fought to best his friend. Eyes closed, teeth clenched. Steve won. 

“Woo! It’s a good day to be a nerd,” he quipped, slicking back a stray strand of hair from his forehead. 

Natasha was completely straight faced, glaring at the men as they sat back down. “Pathetic,” she muttered, before turning her attention back to you, now wearing a smile. “So what do you get up to on weekends?”

“I just study, hang out with my roommate, Wanda, and her girlfriend, Carol. I can’t really do much else right now until I’m done with the semester.”

“You reckon you could take one weekend out?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“I guess. Why?”


	5. The Cabin In The Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Steve agree to a weekend away in Bucky and Natasha's cabin in the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one day. I ain't even sorry. Just writing while I can and while I'm on a roll. Enjoy!

You stood at the edge of your bed. An open duffel bag containing no less than three pairs of shoes, four pairs of jeans, six shirts, enough underwear to last you a lifetime, and a good dress, sat right in the middle. You folded your arms and massaged your chin, thinking of what else you could possibly pack for a weekend away.

Bucky and Natasha owned a cabin. Four hours away. Natasha had the bright idea that some time away from studying might do you some good. Unfortunately for you, Steve agreed. And even though she seemed genuinely concerned about you, the thought of spending an entire weekend in the company of two strangers you had only properly met once filled you with a special kind of dread reserved only for trips back to your parents’ or heading back home to Wanda after staying out just a little bit too late. 

“You all set?” 

Wanda stood in the doorway to your room, leaning against the frame. 

“I think so. What else do I need?”

“Got your toothbrush? You know you always forget the little things.”

Your eyes widened as you delved a hand into the recesses of your bag. “Fuck.”

“Hey, Carol,” Wanda called into the hallway, “can you get her toothbrush please?”

“I’m on it!” Wanda’s girlfriend replied, her footsteps ringing through the apartment. 

“Make up, perfume, all that kind of stuff?” Wanda continued. 

“Got it all.”

Carol slipped past Wanda and handed you your toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. “You know what would be funny?”

You raised an eyebrow. 

“What if they’re all swingers?” she chuckled.

“Carol, don’t. She’s nervous enough. Leave her alone,” Wanda scolded, coming fully into your bedroom. 

“You don’t think that would be hilarious? What about a Satanic sex cult?” Carol quipped.

Wanda took your face in her hands, a concerned look on her face. “You’re gonna be fine, you hear me? You’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s just one weekend.”

“Yeah but what if they’re just tolerating me because of Steve?”

“I think you’re good,” Carol piped up. 

Wanda turned to look at her. 

“I mean if they’re friends with a loser like Professor Rogers, then they’re gonna love you,” she shrugged. 

“Not. Helping,” Wanda said.

You raised your hand slightly, directing Wanda’s attention back to you. “Actually, yeah, that does help… kind of. Thanks, Carol.”

The three of you stood silently for a moment before the intercom buzzed. 

“That’ll be your boyfriend now,” Carol said, trudging out of the room. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you said quietly. 

“Well, sugar daddy or whatever you straight people call them.” She picked up the receiver. “Hello. Uh huh. Yep. She’s here. You’re carrying her bags, right? Good. Come on up.” She put down the receiver. “Your academic booty call is here.”

You tugged the zip on your bag closed and turned to Wanda. She was still standing there wearing that worried look. 

“Are you sure you’re gonna be ok?”

“I think so.”

She pulled you into a bone crushing hug. “If you don’t feel comfortable, you text me and we’ll come pick you up, ok? That’s not a problem.”

“I will. Promise.” 

You opened your eyes to find Steve hovering in the doorway. 

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything!”

Carol stood behind him, glaring up at him, mocking that last statement. “Dream on.”

“Professor Rogers!” Wanda smiled, picking up your bag and bringing it over to him. “You take care of my friend ok?”

“Don’t you worry Miss Maximoff, I plan to,” he said with a wink. 

“And could you maybe bump my last essay grade up by a couple per cent, please?” she asked sweetly.

“Now you know I can’t do that,” Steve said reasonably. 

“Not if you don’t sleep with him,” Carol remarked. 

“Danvers! How’s your old man?” Steve grinned. “Love the new haircut.”

“Yeah, you know damn well we don’t talk, Rogers.”

“That’s a shame. Such a good guy.”

“Whoa! Is that the time? We should probably get going!” you said, grabbing Steve’s arm so tight that he winced. 

“Yeah, get outta here Rogers!” Carol said. “And don’t be joining any Satanic sex cults, I’m warning you!”

Steve turned to leave the apartment with you still on his arm. You cast a look back at Wanda who was simply beaming, shooing you on until you closed the door behind you. 

“What was all that about?” you asked, trying to keep up with Steve as he descended the stairs. 

“I know that girl’s dad. Great guy, used to work with Bucky down at the Pen. Played a couple rounds of golf with him. Your roommate’s girlfriend, on the other hand is a bit of a brat.”

“Is it because she’s gay?”

“No! No, no, absolutely not,” Steve began, leaving the building. “It’s because she’s a brat, like I said. Refuses to get a job, takes all of his money, refuses to get along with guys. She’s difficult, you know. And if you ask me, Maximoff should stay away from that one.”

“She never was a great judge of character.”

“Well, she picked a doozie,” he remarked as you walked side by side through the parking lot. “I’m parked just over here.”

Steve popped open the trunk of the car and put your bag in there alongside his while you got inside. “You don’t half pack light,” he quipped.

“I didn’t know what kind of a trip this was gonna be.”

Steve got in beside you and closed the door.

“I mean, was it gonna be some outdoor adventure type of deal, or was it gonna be an r and r thing?” you continued. 

Steve turned the engine over. “Well I’m sure you’ve packed for every plausible occasion.”

“I hope so.”

“You excited?” he asked. “I mean, it’s ok if you’re not. They can be a bit much.”

“Well you’re a broken soul and I’m a prude, maybe we need a little loosening up, right?” you said, not so convincingly.

“I thought I was good at loosening you up?”

You turned to look at him, drawing a finger underneath the collar of Steve’s shirt. Pale blue. Chambray. “New shirt?”

“Yeah, you like it? It’s made of boyfriend material,” he said, drawing his hand over his chest. 

“It’s a little yacht club, don’t you think?” 

Steve turned the radio on and turned it up. “Nope.”

The journey was supposed to take four hours. Steve drove like a maniac though. He effortlessly halved that. A hundred all the way. 

Your breakfast was threatening to make an appearance and Steve had just about exhausted every song in existence that predated you by at least a decade. Or at least that’s how it felt. You were quiet up until thick rows of trees lined the road. 

“Almost there?”

Steve placed a reassuring hand on your leg, “almost there.”

It was rare for you to leave the city these days and you couldn’t remember the last time you were this far removed from any kind of hustle and bustle. You drank in the sight of the open road and the trees and the midday sun as it burned down from right above. “This place is beautiful,” you said quietly. 

“When I’m old, I could see myself living out here.”

“Me too. Nobody could get to me out here.”

“Maybe someday, right?”

“Us in our little cabin, surrounded by your research papers and me with my legion of cats,” you dreamed aloud. 

Steve glanced over at you. “Cats?”

“The best pets.”

“You mean dogs, don’t you?”

“Nope. Definitely mean ca-“

“We’re here!” Steve announced, swerving the car along a dirt road to your right. 

It was dark, the trees whose branches lashed against the windows of the car afforded you no glimmer of daylight. But there, at the end, was a clearing. With a small log cabin right in the centre. The only signs of life there was the red SUV parked beside the cabin, and the smoke that belched from the chimney on the roof. It was beautiful. 

Once the car came to a halt, Steve got out and slung both of your bags over his shoulder. You climbed up the wooden steps together to the door. He knocked three times.

“This place is so pretty,” you whispered to him. 

A set of footsteps shuffled towards the door on the other side, getting louder and louder until it opened. Bucky stood in front of you looking flushed and dishevelled, clad in just a towel. 

“Hey! We weren’t expecting you for another two hours!”

“Well, we were that excited that we hurried,” Steve said, “looks like you’ve been having a good time without us.”

“It’s not a party until my puny best pal and his young, hot girlfriend show up,” he said, stepping aside, “come on in!”

The living room was stifling; the log fire in the corner raged away making you break into a sweat upon entering. But it was cosy. Minimal but opulent, housing three large chesterfields, assembled around a solid oak coffee table atop a red tartan rug. There was no television, just a drinks cabinet, loaded with every poison you could dream of, and a stag’s head suspended above it. The place looked like heaven. 

Natasha sauntered in, wearing a fuzzy white robe, stabbing a mixing rod into a highball glass of muddled mint and lime. “You guys are early,” she said. 

“I just said that,” Bucky agreed. 

Her normally serious expression broke into a smile as she approached you with open arms. “How you doing, sweetie?”

“A little travel sick, but I’m good,” you replied. 

“He drives like an idiot too?” she asked, pulling away from you.

You nodded. 

“It’s the same with James,” she said, pointing to Bucky, “must be a guy thing.”

“Maybe.”

“Why don’t you two check out your room, dump your bags. Chill out for a little while and then we can get some serious drinks going?” She suggested, pointing to the short hallway to your left. “It’s the one at the end.”

You looked up at Steve.

“Sounds like a plan,” Steve said, picking up your bags again. “See you later.”

Your room was equally as sparse and extravagant in all the right ways. A plush bed that dwarfed a king size, thick fluffy pillows and a mountain of blankets. Aside from that, there wasn’t much in there, aside from two nightstands, a wardrobe and a window looking out on to the clearing. There was an ensuite too. You wandered through while Steve unpacked. 

The bathroom exuded style. Grey and silver furnishings and fixtures set it apart from the rest of the cabin. Bucky and Natasha hadn’t missed a trick with a basket brimming with lotions and potions, and thick, crisp white towels draped over heated rails. Even the most upmarket spas in the city would be pressed to compete with this. Without thinking, you began shedding your clothes. “Steve, I’m just gonna take a shower, ok?”

“Ok! Don’t take too long. I’m gonna need to pee soon.”

He could wait.

You rifled through the goods in the basket of treats. Shower creams, bath milks and body conditioners in every scent imaginable. You opened and sniffed them all. Cinnamon, rose, cherry, mango, lemon, vanilla, lavender… You settled on a simple violet soap in the end and stepped into the cubby in the far left of the room.

Your turned the dial and water came pouring out. Not too cool, not too warm. In fact, this was probably the first time in your life you hadn’t needed to duck out of the line of freezing cold fire. Your shoulders loosened under the steady pressure of the water, and you revelled in the scent of the lather you were working into your skin. You needed a shower like this back home. 

You closed your eyes, debating for just a second whether to call on Steve to join you, allowing your hands to wander over your body more freely. Ultimately, you decided against it for now. You could get by on your own. You turned, leaning against the wall, as your hand wandered down between your thighs, your fingers delving gently into your folds. Every drop of water felt like a tiny lightning bolt as it collided with you skin. You sighed quietly, tilting your head back. Bliss.

You could almost feel Steve’s presence looming over you. Your eyes squeezed shut, painting the picture that had taunted you all week. Bent over his desk, exposed and at his mercy. You had failed a test or something - that wasn’t important. He was looming, belt in hand, a stern look on his face. Your sense of dread and excitement mounting as you waited for that first crack against your cold bare skin. Every muscle in your body coiled tightly. 

In one fell swoop he brought the strap down. Jolting you forward, making you weak at the knees. You were sure his name escaped your lips a bit too loudly. Someone might have heard. 

“You called?”

Your eyes sprung open. 

Steve came closer. Now he really was looming over you. “Can I join you?” he whispered, pressing light, delicate kisses along your jaw. “Or is this a private party?”

You couldn’t get a response out before his lips were on your’s; his fingers replacing yours, dancing over your sensitive, swollen clit. His other hand was tangled in your hair, grasping it, pulling you into him. You would have taken the real thing over any fantasy you could conjure up in your head. You were glad he showed up when he did.

You broke the kiss to look him in the eye. Those baby blues of his were dark and deep set, his pupils swimming in a sea of lust. “How long have you been here,” you asked, your voice shaking as Steve’s fingertips continued to tease you. 

He nibbled at your ear, stubble grazing at your neck. “Long enough for your to get me this riled up,” he whispered, taking his fingers away from your pussy and wrapping his hand around his cock, slipping it between your lips. 

You pulled at his hair, wanting him to look at you again. “You gonna fuck me, Professor Rogers?” you asked, grinding your hips against him. 

Steve continued to tease you with long, languid strokes, looking down at you intently. “That depends if you ask nicely princess.”

You turned around to face the wall, bending at the waist to meet Steve’s cock. Playfully swaying your hips from side to side you tried to convince him, “please Professor Rogers, I really need that big, hard cock of yours. Please. I mean how could you possibly resist this? Really?” You couldn’t help but giggle, as those ridiculous words tumbled from your mouth.

Steve saw the funny side too, but not for too long. He grabbed your hips for you to stay still, your skin paling under his grip. That was your cue. It was game on. You reached between your thighs and took his cock in your hand, pressing just the tip against your entrance. 

You shivered while he slowly sank into you, clenching at his girth. You could feel Steve exhale as he filled you. 

He paused, relishing how tight you were around him, how good you felt, even like this. A little bit lost, even. 

Eager for more, you rocked against him, fucking yourself on his cock. “Are you just going to stand there enjoying the view, Professor Rogers, or are you going to fuck me?”

Steve began to move his hips with yours as soon as he heard you speak. He hunched over you slightly, his chest pressed to your back and an arm around your waist, his free hand planted on the wall. He quickened his pace, thrusting into you with an increasing urgency, knocking the air from your lungs. “You like that?” he growled in your ear. 

“Yes, Professor Rogers,” you gasped, writhing clumsily beneath him. 

Steve grabbed the shower head and trailed the warm jet of water up your thigh, making you squirm even more against his grasp. He made sure to bypass where you really needed it most. Frustrating you. You whined, becoming needy as he fucked you senseless, while denying you of what you wanted. Just that one thing to tip you over the edge. 

“Please,” you begged trying to grab the shower head from Steve.

“Please? Please what?” he taunted. 

“Please make me come!”

Steve’s thrusts turned to long, devilishly slow strokes as he trained the shower head between your legs. It took your breath away, more and more of your weight resting against Steve’s arm around your waist. “How’s that for you, Princess?” he asked breathlessly, holding on to you.

You were incoherent. Legs shaking, chest heaving, skin flushed. You closed your eyes and let the first wave hit you, crashing through your body until you couldn’t hold yourself up any longer. 

Steve wasn’t far behind you. When you came back to your senses, Steve had dropped the shower head and was holding you with both hands, his teeth pressing into your shoulder, growling, telling you just how amazing you felt, shooting ropes of his seed inside you. 

You both collapsed to the floor, leaning against the wall. You were still wrapped in Steve’s arms, cheek pressed to his chest. You must have stayed there for another twenty minutes, out of breath and definitely in need of another shower, until the water ran cold. 

You and Steve had forgotten all about Bucky and Natasha and their plans for the weekend in the cabin. Maybe this trip wasn’t going to be so bad after all.


End file.
